Mistletoe
by AshQueen18198
Summary: (Various pairings) A collection of holiday one shots that I will add to until Christmas.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: A really awesome reviewer gave me a prompt for mistletoe. I will update and add additional couples. My anonymous beta for all of my other stories also beta'd this story and its summary, as well as helping me write some parts. **_**Les Mis**__**érables**__**Wiki **_**(which I used to find the ages of the characters) the Smithsonian website** **for research on mistletoe traditions (to see if it was even around in 19****th**** century France), and Microsoft Word spellcheck and autocorrect also contributed. I hope that you like the story!**

**Warnings: Hints at child abuse and neglect.**

**I do not own **_**Les Mis**__**érables**_**. If I did, I would have made Jehan/Azelma canon. **

Jehan and Azelma, Christmas Eve, 1831

Jehan Prouvaire had just exited the Café Musain after a long, positive meeting. Several other groups of students had become involved in the upcoming revolution, and five crates of weapons had been donated to the cause. Jehan smiled to himself, knowing there was no way they could fail. The cold nipped at his fingertips, and the snow glimmered under the flickering flame of the streetlamps as his breath turned to icy air.

Jehan heard a quiet exhale, barely noticeable, and attempted to find the source of it. Upon finding a nearby alleyway, he noticed a young woman hidden in the shadows. She looked like a living skeleton clothed in rags and her filthy skin was red from the cold. Her matted hair was a shade of brown, from what he could tell. "Excuse me mademoiselle," he said, "would you like to come inside? I know of a warm place."

She stared at him for a few seconds, then nodded, her pupils large.

"Here, follow me. You will be able to eat a warm meal."

Jehan returned to the Café Musain, the young woman following unsurely. Once they were inside, he was able to see her more clearly. Her eyes were light brown, and she looked no older than fifteen. He also noticed a black and blue mark on her forehead. "What is your name?" he asked.

"Azelma," she replied quietly and nervously.

"Ah. I am Jehan Prouvaire, though you may call me Jehan if you would like to."

Azelma gave a small nod.

Jehan brought Azelma a bowl of soup. She, however, seemed upset. "I'm sorry monsieur, but I have no way to pay for this."

"I can pay. Please, eat."

Azelma wolfed down her soup. Jehan sat still, staring at the toes of his shoes.

There was an odd, unsettling feeling in his stomach, almost as if his innards were twisting up in knots. He didn't understand what was happening. She made him nervous, but at the same time, he wanted to be near her. A miniscule blush crept onto his lightly freckled cheeks.

Azelma, upon gulping down the last mouthful of soup, licked her chapped lips and stared into space silently. A tear trickled down her cheek, creating a clean path in the grime on her face. Jehan noticed this, using his thumb to wipe away the watery substance on her face. "What is troubling you?" he asked, concerned.

"I-it was just so cold, a-and I was starving. I-I'm not familiar with kindness, monsieur, a-and I feel the need to repay you, b-but I have nothing. I-I am sorry."

"I ask nothing of you. Please, rest. There is a warm fire, and you needn't worry about anything right now."

While looking in the other direction, Azelma hastily clutched Jehan's hand, forcefully yet nervously entwining their fingers. Both turned deep shades of crimson. Hands still together, they paced to the fireplace, not looking each other in the eye. Out of the corner of his eye, Jehan spotted a small, green-leaved plant with tiny white berries hanging from the ceiling above him. His face deepened even further in color. Azelma, observing that he had become an even darker shade of red, followed his eyes until she discovered what he was staring at. It was mistletoe.

When Jehan had realized that Azelma had noticed the little plant, too, he, without consciously willing himself to, began to move his face toward hers. Azelma, understanding what was about to happen, stood on her toes and tilted her head. As their lips met, they were only aware of each other's presence. Jehan moved his hand toward her hair, moving his fingers through it in a brushing motion, and began to caress her head as she allowed her hands to trail upwards until she had them wrapped around the back of Jehan's neck. Their lips were pushed together for only a minute, but it felt like an eternity-and-a-half.

After that minute, however, they had both realized what they were doing, and, both crimson-faced, awkwardly parted. Jehan Prouvaire once again became suddenly fascinated with his shoes. They didn't talk for a few moments, but Azelma put her hand on Jehan's shoulder blade in an act of concern. "Monsieur, are you alright?"

Jehan looked up to see Azelma in front of him. "I feel quite alright," he began, but then realized something. "Azelma, have you a warm place to stay the night? I know of an inn nearby if not."

Azelma looked at him gratefully. "Thank you, monsieur!"

Jehan, who took that as a "yes, I would like to stay at an inn," reached for her hand, then guided her to the door, holding it open for her. The snow outside was pale, moving, and sparkling against the navy sky and poorly-lit street. Azelma, once again shivering in the cold, awkwardly nuzzled into Jehan's chest. Jehan wrapped his arms around her even more awkwardly. The two slowly made their way to the nearest inn, which was rather plain in appearance, but would suffice. After pushing the wooden door open, Jehan paid for Azelma's room and was about to depart for his own home. Azelma, however, placed her hand on his arm as he began toward the exit. Jehan turned to see her looking up at him. "I want to thank you, monsieur. I want to thank you for everything," she said.

Jehan bent down and kissed her cheek. "It was nothing, mademoiselle. I enjoyed your company."

"Will I ever see you again?"

"It is late, and I fear that I must bid you farewell. However, if it is fate, then we shall meet again. I wish you a Merry Christmas, Azelma."

"May you have a Merry Christmas, Jehan, and I hope that we may see each other again."

With that, Azelma left to find the room that she would be staying in, and Jehan departed from the inn, trudging home once again.

**A/N: I'll try to update soon! -AshQueen**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello everybody! Mireille is Courfeyrac's girlfriend, according to Shoujo Cosette, which is the anime that was made out of **_**Les Misérables**_**. However, she was a minor character, so I'll be using a lot of my headcanons for her. I used autocorrect, as always, **_**Les Misérables: Shoujo Cosette Wiki**_** (just to make sure that Mireille looked the same as she did in the anime), and still have the same beta. I'm sorry if this chapter is too short; the end of the semester is approaching and I have a ton of projects that I have been trying to finish. Plus, since Courfeyrac is flirtatious, it really doesn't take much to escalate into kissing.**

**For those of you who don't know, Pocky is a (delicious) Japanese food that is basically a long, thin biscuit covered in chocolate or another coating of sorts from one end to about a quarter of the stick from the other. There is a game called the "Pocky Game," which is played by two people, usually a couple. Each person will have an end of the Pocky stick in their mouth, and they will eat the Pocky until their lips meet in the middle and they are kissing. The person who stops eating the Pocky or breaks the kiss first loses. **

**WARNING: In this chapter, there will be French kissing. If that bothers you, then you probably don't want to read this chapter.**

**I do not own **_**Les Misérables**_** or rights to the character of Mireille. If you need any proof, then here: I'm pretty sure that I can't be Victor Hugo since**__**this is being posted on FanFiction, which is called "FanFiction" for a reason. I also do not own Pocky. If I owned **_**Les Misérables**_** I would have included more Courfeyrac. If I owned Pocky, then I would probably live in a big tall house with rooms by the dozen, right in the middle of the town (if you got that reference, then kudos)!**

Courfeyrac and Mireille, Modern Day, December 20

"Baby, I'm booooooooooooored!" Courfeyrac whined from his spot on the couch. Mireille rolled her chocolate-colored eyes, a smile on her face. "Well, then what do you want to do?" she yelled from the next room over. Mireille heard footsteps, then felt arms wrap around her stomach and a chin on her shoulder, as well as warm breath near her ear. "Wanna play the Pocky game?" Courfeyrac whispered into her ear, smirking. She nodded as he ran into the kitchen, pulling a box out of his hidden stash of junk food.

Mireille plopped down on the couch as Courfeyrac popped the cardboard box open, tore the white wrapping open, and slid one of the little cookies out of the package. Then, taking a seat beside her, he held out the Pocky so Mireille could reach it with her mouth. He leaned in to cover the other end with his mouth, and they both started to chew through the small biscuit. It was only milliseconds before their lips met. Still kissing, Mireille nuzzled closer to him as he wrapped his arms around her back. In return, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Eventually, Mireille felt a tongue slip into her mouth and did the same to her boyfriend, their lips still together.

Mireille was eventually forced to break the kiss when the doorbell rang, at which point she quickly broke the lip-lock to answer the door. After staring through the peephole, she realized that the salesperson on the doorstep wouldn't be worth her time and sauntered back over to the couch where her boyfriend was waiting, a mischievous grin on his face. "What?" she asked jokingly.

"You lost, that's all," he responded, still smugly smiling.

"You are such an idiot," Mireille teased

"I know I am," Courfeyrac said, pulling her down on the couch. Holding her hand, he pointed out an obviously artificial sprig of berries and leaves that had been carelessly hung from the ceiling above them. "See that? It's mistletoe. You know what that means, right?"

"You're too lazy to buy a real plant?"

"I am hurt!" Courfeyrac responded, feigning offense.

"I love you, idiot," Mireille said, kissing him on the lips.

**A/N: Just to clear up any confusion, I feel like Mireille and Courfeyrac wouldn't live together, but she would go to his house often. Thanks for reading and once again, I'll try to update soon. -AshQueen**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm finally on Christmas Break, and it feels AMAZING! Thank you to everybody who has read, reviewed, followed, and/or favorited. It means a lot. **

**By the way, you should read some of PhantomoftheBarricade1832's stories. THEY ARE BEAUTIFUL AND WELL WRITTEN. **

**I feel like everybody ships Joly/Musichetta/Bossuet and I am the only one who interprets Bossuet and Musichetta's relationship as close friendship. I ship Joly/Musichetta, though, and I wish that more people would write about them and only them in a romantic relationship. **

**There are a ton of references to Bossuet's luck (actually, to his lack of it) in this story. I'm just saying. **

**I still have the same awesome beta and Microsoft Word correction tools. **

**WARNING: There is a spoiler for **_**The Fault In Our Stars**_** in here. **

**I still do not own **_**Les Misérables**_**. If I owned **_**Les Misérables**_**, then I would have made sure that Musichetta had a happier ending, as well as more plot involvement. **_**The Fault in Our Stars**_** is also mentioned in this story. I do not own that, either. **

Joly and Musichetta, Christmas Day, Modern Day

Musichetta reached into her coat pocket, retrieving a small set of keys. Finding the one that she was searching for, she pressed it into the shiny, gold-colored lock on the door that stood before her, turned the key, and, upon hearing a satisfactory _click_, twisted the doorknob and quietly pushed the door open. After hanging her red wool coat in the small closet beside the door, she walked into the kitchen and began cooking some eggs, bacon and arranging a plate of assorted fruits.

After the fruit was arranged in a fancy design on the plate and the eggs and bacon had finished cooking (and she had dabbed all of the grease from the bacon because her boyfriend was a health fanatic), Musichetta set the table for two (Bossuet was in the hospital after slipping on some ice the night before and wouldn't even be awake for another few hours; she'd visit him later). Then, she tip-toed down the hall to her boyfriend's room. Cracking the door open, she smiled at the peaceful expression on his face as he slept, arced in a crescent under the heavy blankets.

Sneaking through the door, Musichetta sat beside him on his bed and kissed his forehead. Joly rubbed the sleep from his dark brown eyes and opened them. He stretched his arm and placed it on Musichetta's shoulder. "Good morning 'Chetta."

"Merry Christmas," she said, combing her slim fingers through his hair. Joly's hair was soft, short (but not extremely short), and smelled slightly of a strange mix of cologne and antiseptic wipes.

Joly propped himself up on his arms, his white T-shirt folding into little creases around his stomach, and pushed the blankets off of him. He stole a quick glance at his alarm clock. "Damn, I woke up late."

"You needed the sleep; med school has been keeping you up _waaaaay_ too late," Musichetta responded softly. "C'mon, I made you breakfast."

Joly pushed himself up and off of the mattress and Musichetta followed. Wrapping his arms around her tiny waist, Joly lightly kissed her cheek and entered the kitchen, which still smelled of the food that Musichetta had cooked moments earlier. Reaching for a plastic green plate (if one was to live with Bossuet for twenty-four hours, they would understand why plastic plates were a necessity), Joly scooped some eggs and bacon onto his plate. Upon reaching the table, he also added a heaping pile of fruit. Musichetta, after placing food on her plate, took a seat at the circular table.

After a silence that only lasted while Joly picked at his eggs and Musichetta eagerly ate a generous serving of bacon, Joly asked, "What would you like to do today?"

"Bossuet won't be up for another few hours, so I was thinking that we could open gifts after we go into town. We can also go to the Church service this evening so he can go with us," Musichetta offered. Joly nodded, his mouth full of scrambled eggs.

"That sounds good. Just let me finish breakfast, and then I'll get ready."

"Okay."

"Okay," said Musichetta automatically mimicking a pivotal line from one of her favorite books, _The Fault in Our Stars_. She's carried back to that awkward moment in time when Joly had walked in on her sobbing after reading Augustus' death scene and lamenting the unfairness of a lost loves. When asked why she was crying, she explained the whole story in great detail and ever since then, small references to the book like the "Okay"/"Okay" repartee would occasionally slip into a conversation between Joly and Musichetta.

After both had finished eating and Joly had gotten ready for the day, Musichetta slid her arms through the sleeves of her coat, zipped up her boots, and waited for Joly to do the same before heading out the door and down the snowy street. Finding Joly's little red car, they jumped in and made their way downtown. After parking in a crowded lot, they exited the car, their boots hitting the snow with a barely audible crunching noise. The town was somewhat busy, but not crowded. Cars rolled down the streets, which were slick with slush. The old brick buildings were carefully decorated with lights, and multicolored displays lit up the window of each storefront. Wreaths and large red bows had been attached to each and every black lamppost in town.

While sauntering down a quaint sidewalk, Musichetta pulled a thermos of hot cocoa from her purse, offering it to her boyfriend. "Would you like some cocoa?"

Joly shook his head. "I would, but I think I'm coming down with something. I sneezed when I was getting ready this morning, so that could mean allergies, but it could also mean that I have a cold, the flu…"

Musichetta sighed at the hypochondriac, who was still naming possible illnesses and health conditions. She knew that hypochondria was a tough thing to deal with or understand. Her younger brother dealt with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder and washed his hands frequently. Looking to the sky, she noticed a small plant which had been conveniently strung between a lamppost and the brick exterior of a building. _Perfect_, she thought.

Musichetta pointed at the mistletoe. "Look," she said. Joly quickly looked up at the green plant, but the moment that he brought his head back down, Musichetta quickly entwined both of their hands and kissed him on the lips. A slight blush spread to his face, but he never stopped her; in fact, he actually kissed back, moving his hand to the back of her head. Joly, realizing what he was doing, pushed away, a look of panic on his face.

"What am I doing? I may get you sick! What if you _die_?" Joly cried out with panic in his voice.

"If we have the same germs, then you can drink the dang cocoa!" Musichetta exclaimed.

**A/N: This is how much I love you guys; I stayed up until 1AM writing what will be the last chapter of this story. The last chapter will be posted on Christmas. –AshQueen**

**P.S.- I wasn't trying to reference the OCD stereotype of people washing their hands. I was diagnosed with OCD and that is one of the things that I struggle with. I also wasn't trying to poke fun at hypochondria. MENTAL CONDITIONS ARE NOT "FUNNY."**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Merry Christmas everybody! This final chapter is my gift to you. I meant for it to be really sweet, but it became extremely bittersweet very quickly. I also have some ideas for stories that I will start soon. Is anybody else looking forward to the end of 2014? I am excited for 2015 because it will be a new beginning for me (I had a bit of a rough year). Anyways, onto the story! **

**I used Wikipedia just to be sure that the time period is accurate to the actual story, and part of the first paragraph was heavily inspired by another fanfiction that I read a long time ago. Unfortunately, I can't remember the name of it. I also got the idea of Marius and Cosette praying together from a website that said that couples can do that. **

**I still have my supercalifragilisticexpialidocious beta, as well as Microsoft Word and Apple correction tools. **

**I do not own **_**Les Misérables**_**. If I did, then I would have ended the story on a happier note, or at least tied up the loose ends. **

Marius and Cosette, Christmas Eve, 1833

Marius entered the living room of the mansion that he shared with his grandfather and his lovely wife. The last year had been a struggle. At night, Marius would still wake sobbing, drenched in sweat, and shivering, the ghosts of gunshots and the horrid stench of his friends' blood still haunting him. Cosette would comfort him; she was no stranger to pain and was able to understand his suffering. Sorrow hung in the air most of the time, caused by the absences of friends and family. Marius often recalled Courfyerac's smile, Enjolras' determination, Combeferre's pacifisim, Grantaire's cynicism, Prouvaire's creativity, Bahorel's surprising capability for philosophy, Feuilly's warm heart, Joly's cheer, Bossuet's optimism, and Valjean's selflessness.

Taking a seat on the couch in front of the lit fireplace, Marius thought back to his marriage with Cosette. She was his everything, and he loved her with his whole heart and mind. She was his light in the darkness of the world. They prayed together, ate together, walked together and fell asleep together. Marius knew that she would always be with him.

Cosette poked her head into the living room. "Ah, there you are," she said, "I searched the entire house for you."

She took a seat next to him on the couch, her lower stomach large and round. Marius gently placed his hand on the gigantic bump, rubbing it. "How are you, my child?" he said quietly to his wife's growing belly. Cosette smiled, knowing that he would make a wonderful father. Suddenly, she felt a sharp jab from inside and let out a rapid breath. "Are you alright?" Marius asked.

Cosette smiled. "I am fine. The baby just kicked," she said, placing her hand beside her husband's on her stomach. Cosette was eight-and-a-half months pregnant, and the child was expected at any time. She and Marius had already decided that their child would be named Jean (or Jeanne, if they had a daughter) after people close to them that had been lost.

"Marius?" Cosette asked.

"Yes, darling?"

"Do you feel that Papa watches over us?"

Marius instantly knew that Cosette was mourning. "Yes, he definitely watches over us-" He was cut off by Cosette's sniffling, a tear running down her cheek. "No, darling, do not cry," he said, wiping the tear away with his thumb. "He will always be with us-"

"I wish that our child could have met him. Papa would have loved to be a grandfather."

"I know, I know. He would have been a wonderful grandfather to our child. He is watching over us, though, and he would not like for you to be sorrowful."

Cosette buried her face in her husband's chest and Marius stroked her head. She sobbed quietly for a while, Marius trying to calm her however he could, and eventually Cosette looked up. Her eyes were red and puffy. Marius kissed her on the cheek. "Cosette, I do believe that dinner is ready. Would you like to come eat?" he asked.

Cosette nodded, looking at the snow falling outside of the window. She stood up shakily and carefully walked to her husband as he waited in the doorway. Cosette, however, noticed that something was "off" about the doorway. It only took milliseconds to find the source of that feeling. A small clump of berries and leaves hung above Marius' head. "Marius, look above you," Cosette whispered.

Marius looked to the plant, then back to his wife. He slowly moved his head toward hers as he placed his hands cautiously on the sides of her enlarged stomach. Cosette moved one hand to his neck and the other to his shoulder as their lips met. All of their concerns seemed to melt away as they focused on each other lovingly. Marius moved closer to his wife, lips still together, and Cosette moved her hand from his shoulder to his cheek. Without warning: "Cosette, our child kicked again!" Marius exclaimed, breaking the kiss. Cosette looked proudly at her unborn baby. "It won't be long now," Cosette said.

At that moment, Marius could feel his friends, even Enjolras, smiling at him, as well as Jean Valjean.

**A/N: Thank you again to anybody who read, followed, favorited or reviewed. I will start my next story soon, I promise! I think it will be an oneshot of Enjolras and his deepest, darkest, best-kept secret… (cue dramatic music). Stay tuned for that, I will probably start it around the beginning of next week. Merry Christmas! -AshQueen**


End file.
